


Scenes From The Waverider

by akire_yta



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 07:36:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8392852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: just some missing scenes from the six month gap between the seasons (written in tumblr and crossed over, so unbetaed)





	

because six months is long enough to fill in a few missing scenes

1)  “Lift your guard or I’ll break that pretty nose of yours.”  Six months ago, Jax would have winced.  A year ago, he’d have been shocked, to have a tiny girl threaten him so easily.  Now, he just grinned and lifted his guard.

Jax is sometimes a little ashamed of how long he only saw the assassin, and didn’t look further, didn’t try to understand.  But he gets it now.

Sara’s watching him carefully, circling his defenses, and he turned to follow, light on his feet, sure of his balance, just as she taught him.

Jax knew now, that Sara hadn’t dragged him into the makeshift dojo she had set up just because Kendra was gone and she needed a new human punching bag.  Sara had dragged him in because she was worried about him.

Sara pushed and punched, yelled and tripped until Jax had bruises on his bruises. But Sara pushed and punched and yelled and hit because she would stop, and the bad guys they were facing would keep going until Jax was dead.

When he was Firestorm, he was near-invincible.  When he wasn’t, he was just a kid with a blown-out knee and an inability to shut his mouth when faced with a bad dude.

Sara feigned and jabbed, but Jax was ready, and he caught and deflected the blow.

Sara’s tiny smile of pride was better than any Homecoming parade.  Jax resettled his weight, shook out his fists and reformed his defense.  “Come on,” he said, lifting his chin in challenge.  “Again.”

* 

2) Sara wondered, sometimes, what was her life that she can call a sentient supercomputer a friend.

“Ms Lance,” Gideon greeted her as she walked into the newly reformed Library, her pale avatar nodding welcome.

“Gideon,” Sara replied warmly.  She’s still in loose pants, a heavy cable-knit sweater that she ‘forgot’ to return to the wardrobe wrapped around her like a comforting hug.  She’s barefoot, and the change from the cool metal deck to the soft rugs of the Library is like stepping into another world.  The door hissed as it sealed shut behind her.

“I have made tea,” Gideon announced, the lights changing to Sara’s unstated preference.

Sara smiled softly, taken by the small gesture.  “Thank you, Gideon.”

Sara’s ensconced on the sofa facing the big screens, feet tucked up under her, a steaming mug close to hand, when Gideon speaks again.  “Ms Lance, may I make a personal request?”

Sara felt her eyebrow climb up her face as she looked upwards towards the source of the voice.  “Go ahead,” she said finally, amusement threaded through her voice.

“I am aware you are attempting to track Damien Darhk,” Gideon said flatly.  Sara’s smile vanished.  

“That’s none of your business.”

“I am in all systems.  In effect, I _am_  the Waverider.  I am also designed to scan through time, consider all possibilities.”  There was a pause.  “I am also concerned with the well-being of this crew.”

The way she said it had Sara’s vicious retort dying unsaid.  “Gideon?”

The avatar’s glow was a spot of brightness in the otherwise dimly lit room.  “Ms Lance.  I would like to help you.”

Sara unfolded her legs, walked slowly to Gideon’s console.  “You would, huh?”

Gideon’s avatar is featureless, more shape than form. It tilts, slightly, in space, a simulation of intimacy.  “Friends help each other, is that not correct?”

Sara thought for a moment, then, with a flick of her wrist, sent the notes she had collated on her tablet to the big screen.  “Yeah,” she said as, on screen, Gideon began sorting and cross-referencing so fast the files were little more than a blur.  “They do.”

* 

3) Gideon didn’t sleep.  But it was quiet, under the ocean, and silent.  Gideon’s consciousness drifted in time.  Many of the Waverider’s systems were damaged, and the few remaining repair modules she has at her disposal were making slow progress.

But she had time.  That’s all she had, really.  Reducing core functionality to critical systems and Mr Rory’s stasis, Gideon watched the tiny aberrations that were her crew, lost in history, and waited.

Captain Hunter had vanished, and Gideon checked her subsystems to confirm that there was no routine that let her feel hurt.  But still the error persisted.  She really was a very intelligent system, after all.

They are not strangers, but they are strangers to her deck.  She allowed them to dock anyway, waiting for them to find Mr Rory before she released her charge from stasis.  She bided her time, checking Waverider’s systems for readiness.

The last repair module had finished its work four years prior, its status message waiting patiently in her buffer.  Gideon watched Mr Rory play the buffoon, and she approved of his strategy.  Both visitors have their secrets, but history shows that now is not the time for them to be uncovered.

When Mr Rory goes to the kitchen, Gideon twisted a system, bringing forward Mr Rory’s preferred drink at its preferred temperature, a bowl of his favourite snack in the adjoining cabinet.

Mr Rory plays dumb, but in many ways, he is quite intelligent.  She caught the quick glance up, to where he knows her primary camera is.  His nod is too fast for their visitors to catch, but Gideon notices everything on this ship.

When Mr Rory takes the Captain’s seat, she powers up the engines and sets their course, and waits for her crew to return to her so she can deliver the message that’s been waiting in her queue for them for over seventy years

*

4)  Ray never thought he’d be as happy to hear the roar of Mick’s flamethrower as he was right now.

It’s a short walk through the wild grasses back to the Waverider.  Ray followed in Mick’s footsteps, ignoring the new kid who seemed to need to go puke every few minutes.  For now, he focuses on one step after the other, avoiding the razor grass, the shrub with the innocuous but awful thorns hidden beneath the stubby little leaves.  The threat of fire seems to have scattered the wildlife, but Ray has learned the hard way not to trust the silence.

The new kid is first up the gangway, almost scurrying to safety.  Mick waits by the landing strut, unsurprised by the way Ray turns to look back over the wilderness.  In the distance, a dinosaur roared.  “Never thought we’d get to jump this far back,” he admitted to Mick.  “Though, given how time sick I was for, like, a day afterward, perhaps that was for the best.”

Mick shrugs, one gloved hand resting on his weapon.  “At least you weren’t playing sleeping beauty.”

Ray snorts, and sits himself on the edge of the ramp.  His boots were an early casualty, and the leaf and vine moccasins he had crudely made slip off easily.  It’s a relief to throw them into the long grass.  “I can’t remember the last time I got a full night’s sleep.”  He rubs his hands over his beard.  “Or a bath.”

Mick makes that amused noise in the depths of his throat as he pushes himself up off the strut.  “I wasn’t going to mention.  I’m polite like that.”

That drags a full laugh out of Ray.  “Hey, screw you, man,” he said teasingly.  “I was being chased by T-Rex.  Manly man stuff.  I smell like survival.”

Mick looks him over.  “You smell like a bog pit.  Come on, we’ve got to find the others.”  But he claps his hand on Ray’s shoulder to shove him up the gangway, and Ray finally feels like he’s home.  “Hey, what does dinosaur taste like?”

The door closed with a pneumatic hiss.  “Honestly.  Mostly like chicken.”

“Ah,” Mick said, heading for the bridge.  “Good to know.” 

*

5)  Nate stumbled after the others – Dr Palmer and Professor Stine, Mick Rory and Jefferson Jackson, he repeated to himself like a litany, still struggling to fully grasp the reality of people who, up until this week, had just been traces in the fabric of history.

“Well,” Dr Palmer said behind him.  Now that he was showered and shaved and in modern clothes, he fitted better the image Nate had in his mind.  “Salem is nice this time of year.”

Nate had known the man, officially, for about three hours, and he already was starting to release how _relentlessly cheerful_  the man was.  Four hours ago, they had saved him from being eaten by a dinosaur, and now he was commenting on the scenery like it was nothing.

Nate was still struggling at  _dinosaurs_.

“Guys,” Jax chimed in from the front of their little group.  “I know one thing about Salem and history and that’s…”

“Witch trials,” Professor Stein finished.  Ahead, they could hear the bellowing of an angry crowd.

Twelve minutes later, the crowd had scattered and Nate was struggling to get air into his lungs past the end of the heavy stick that was resting against his adam’s apple.  “Little help?” he rasped.

The stick didn’t move. “Who’s this guy?”  Sara Lance was tiny and _terrifying_.

“New guy,” Jax said, like it was no big deal that she had him on the ground.

“Huh,” Sara made a thoughtful noise.

“He apparently found the Waverider,” Professor Stein added gently.  “And led directly to our rescue.”

Sara sighed like it was a chore and tossed away the stick.  “Ok, where’s Rip?  And did we stop that nuke?”

“Atomic bomb,” Martin chided gently.  Nate listened to them bickering gently as they headed back into the forest.

He lay there until Ray’s face appeared above him, smiling happily.  “You okay there, Dr Heywood?” he asked.

“Are you always so chipper?” Nate asked, not moving.

Dr Palmer actually thought about it.  “Yeah, pretty much.  Come on, we’ve got history to save.”  He held out his hand and hauled Nate to his feet.  Together, they followed the rest of the Legends back to the ship.

* 

and 6)  “Hey Grey?”  Martin turned, waiting for Jax to catch up.  “I hear you cold-cocked Einstein.”  His grin is easy, playful, and it makes Martin feel young again, full of energy and with the world at his feet.  “Guess they’re right, when they say never meet your heroes.”

They fall into easy step, side by side.  “I suppose not, though I do not think that punching the greatest mind in history what what they were referring to.”  Martin bites down his grin as Jax laughs, open and free.

“Where’d you learn to throw a punch like that, anyway.”

Martin paused, one hand resting on the edge of the door control. “From you.  From our meld.”  The door hissed open at a stroke.  “You should convey your gratitude to Ms Lance, she is an excellent tutor.  Good night, Jax.


End file.
